


Soldier, Poet, King

by Diz (artificialmac)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bar Owner Dream, Character Growth, Developing Friendships, Enemies to Lovers, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, King Karl, M/M, Middle Ages, Multi, knight sapnap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29990274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificialmac/pseuds/Diz
Summary: Sapnap is a soldier, hopelessly in love with the king. Dream is a poet that sits at the tavern listening to stories. George is a king in his own right.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Comments: 10
Kudos: 94





	Soldier, Poet, King

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hi, I'm unsure of how this happened, but it did and I kinda like it a bit. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, this song was titled after the song with the same name: Soldier, Poet, King - The Oh Hellos

The splash of early sunlight, wet against the oak floor, trailed slowly upward, and with it, came the warmth. A warmth that settled into the stone walls, heating them up from the inside, as if sinking into the very atoms they were made of, setting fire to the bonds.

Nick’s eyes were already open, having hardly closed due to the bitter cold of the night. He rolled over on the straw-bound cot and exhaled winter. The steady breathing of his fellow soldiers on either side calmed his nerves a bit, though there was nothing to be done for the rising sun.

Before long, the tell-tale sign of clanking armor up the worn wooden steps roused the other men from their slumber, as the Captain of the Guard burst through the door, sending the men into a flurry of activity as they made their sad excuses for bedchambers and scurried about throwing on their protective gear.

Nick ducked his head and followed the crowd, avoiding eye contact like the plague. If the rumors were to be believed, Schlatt would be retiring within the fortnight, leaving the position as Captain up for grabs.

Nick allowed himself the brief luxury of imagining his future promotion, leading his fellow soldiers in battle, humbly accepting the numerous accolades for his accomplishments. He let the rush of white-hot heat flow through his worn limbs at the thought of finally grasping the power he so desperately craved. 

Dispelling the fantasy with a shake of his head, Nick came back to reality, focused instead on the chainmail caught on his tunic. He shifted his weight, letting the metal dislodge itself, before pulling on his chest plate.

* * *

The marching, always marching, matched the beat in Nick’s head as the army made their way down the castle stairs into the throne room.

No words were spoken as the soldiers took their positions, neat rows of twenty until the vast hall had been filled. Nick didn’t need to turn his head to know there was an audience. The people of the kingdom had come from near and far, as they were want to do, gathered in groups as high as the rafters to watch the passing of power.

As the royal family entered, the soldiers kept their eyes down, customary kneeling positions taken until Schlatt gave the order to stand at attention.

The groan of hundreds of pieces of metal armor filled the silent hall as the king took his seat.

Schlatt approached the throne, and after receiving a nod from the king, he turned to address the room. He gave a formal speech, a far cry from his normal crass yelling, but Nick tuned it out, instead focusing on stilling his racing heart.

It was only as Schlatt finished his droning that Nick noticed the nerves rolling off his fellow soldiers.

The energy in the air was electric, as each man waited to see who would be chosen. The silence stretched on, only the sound of harsh breathing could be heard in the hall.

“Will, Sapnap, Q, step forward!”

Nick’s heart leapt at the sound of his name, and he stood, knees suddenly wobbly. He noticed two other men stand and approach, a lanky brunette and a shy looking soldier stepping forward. 

The three came to kneel at the base of the stairs and Schlatt gave them a look that could have been mistaken for pride if Nick didn’t know him better.

“You have been chosen to the King’s personal guard.”

Nick felt his heart drop through the floor.

* * *

The dwindling sunlight through the crack above the window made Clay smile. Hues of reds and yellows and oranges licked at his side profile, soaking it in the evening sun. The hum of activity in his bar further lightened his mood as mixes of cheers, grumbles, and belches filled the rapidly cooling air. He made a mental note to send Toby out for more firewood.

As Clay began cleaning off the bar, he heard a sudden hush fall over the patrons.

The door swung back and forth on its hinges, the sound filling the now silent tavern. 

Clay looked up and his stomach dropped; he could recognize a member of the Kingsgaurd from a mile out.

The man surveyed the patrons, letting his eyes flit over each of their faces before coming to rest on Clay’s stiff form.

He approached the bar slowly, metal rattling as his joints shifted.

The soldier leaned against the bar, propping an elbow on the pristine wooden surface, smudging the polish Clay had recently applied.

Clay swallowed his fear, pulling himself up to his full height, meeting the soldier’s eyes squarely.

“What brings a member of the Kingsguard so far outside the kingdom walls?” 

The soldier shrugged. “Can’t a man want a drink?”

“There are plenty of bars inside the walls.” He levied.

“None that I can risk being seen at.”

Clay nodded, understanding passing over him. “You on the run?” He asked.

The soldier shook his head. 

“Just don’t wanna be found?”

He nodded.

“Forgive me,” Clay muttered, “I don’t normally ask so many questions, but you have to understand my clientele.”

The soldier met his eyes, a gentleness settling just behind them. “I’m not here to start anything.”

Clay nodded and signaled to the rest of the bar to go about their business.

His patrons looked back at him warily, but with one more firm nod, they turned back to their merriment, only casting cautious glances back at the soldier every few minutes.

The man ordered ale and downed the mug in one go.

Clay didn’t comment, choosing instead to continue his tasks, cleaning, washing, serving, smiling. All the while he felt the soldier’s eyes boring into the back of his head, warming the skin there.

“You the owner?” The man finally asked.

Clay nodded. “They call me Dream.”

The soldier chuckled. “Why’s that?”

“Got my head in the clouds too much.” He shrugged.

“I know that feeling.” The soldier nodded, sighing lightly before sticking out his hand. “They call me Sapnap, but the name’s Nick.”

Clay eyed the hand warily but took it despite the warnings going off in his head, dropping it quickly a moment later. 

“Kingsgaurd huh?” Clay nodded to the emblazoned crest of the royal family that adored the man’s armor. 

Sapnap-Nick scoffed, rolling his eyes as if Clay had insulted him in some way. 

His eyebrows raised of their own volition. “Nothing to scoff at,” Clay said.

Nick shook his head, rueful smile in place. “No. No, it’s not.”

“Then why do you look so…”

“It wasn’t what I wanted.”

“Ahh, you’re one of those.”

Nick looked up at him, meeting the tavern keep’s eyes squarely. “What do you mean?”

“One of those guys,” Clay shook his head to clear it. “Those guys that work to climb all these ranks, but aren't ever satisfied. Can’t ever settle down.”

Nick’s eyes fell down to his empty glass, tracing the rim absentmindedly with a finger. “Yes, well, when you say it like that you make me sound boring.”

“I don’t think you’re boring.” Clay blurted out before he could stop himself.

“No?”

“No.” Clay smiled genuinely. “And for what it’s worth, maybe you can knock some sense into that king we have. Since you’ll be spending so much time with him.”

Nick smiled grimly. “Not sure anyone could do that.”

* * *

Kingsgaurd.

It wasn’t anything to scoff at, by any means.

But it wasn’t Captain.

Bad had been the one to take that title. 

It made sense, the man being one of the fiercest warriors the kingdom had seen in a long time. Though if you asked Nick, cruel and heartless did not a good leader make. 

Although there were rumors that Bad hadn’t always been so cold. Rumors that he had been in love at one point. That he had even been soft. Kind.

But that must have been long ago, as now when Nick watched him from the tower to the courtyard below, the man looked the furthest thing from loving. 

Nick and Q had been stationed outside the library, twiddling their thumbs as the boy king had his fifth lesson of the week on political strategy. Nick couldn’t fathom one measly topic taking so much damn time, but what did he know of leading. 

He could hardly control his fellow Kingsgaurd. 

Q was prancing about the corridor, stabbing invisible enemies, snacking rather loudly on an apple he had nicked from the kitchen a few minutes prior. The incessant clanging and crunching and clanging and crunching were worrying Nick’s last damn nerve.

“You don’t hold a sword that way,” Nick commented bruskly. 

Q’s head shot up, a flush spreading along his neck. “I know how to hold a sword, dipshit.”

Nick felt heat prick the back of his neck. “Well then do it.”

“How ‘bout I run you through with it. See if you can talk shit then, pretty boy.”

Just as Nick went to really lay into his fellow soldier, the door to the library slammed open.

“Your highness,” Nick and Q startled, bowing customarily. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw Q bowing deeper than usual, attempting to show him up. Nick took the bait, and doubled his own efforts to show respect.

“How are you, your highness?” Q asked, the suck up that he was.

“Members of my personal guard fighting amongst themselves,” the king pursed his lips, “I’m feeling very protected, thanks for asking.”

Nick couldn’t help but let out a burst of air through his nose. 

The king was funny. 

He hadn’t expected that.

The king just stared at him, unblinking. For a brief moment, Nick considered praying to whatever god or gods that existed to save his ass from getting hung in the courtyard. But the yelling never came, in fact, he swore he saw the corner of the king’s mouth twitch up.

* * *

“He’s still woefully unprepared to be a leader,” Nick commented, “but he’s got a sense of humor at least.”

Clay nodded, taking a sip from his own cup. “I’m not surprised. He’s young.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Nick shrugged.

“I can’t imagine attempting to rule a nation at that age,” Clay mused, more to himself than anything.

“He handles it well.” Nick nodded. “At least from what I can tell.”

“From what you can tell?” Clay shook his head. “You’re with him every day!”

“Yeah, but most of that time is spent waiting outside his bedroom door, or waiting outside the library door, or waiting outside the throne room door.”

The corner of Clay’s mouth quirked up. “So not the high-intensity action you always dreamed?”

“You could say that,” Nick grumbled, eyes unfocused as he looked down at himself. 

A silence fell between the two men. A comfortable one at that and Clay only had a brief moment to wonder when their relationship became considered comfortable when Nick started talking again. 

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I don’t know,” Nick smirked, “wait outside any doors lately?”

Clay couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out. “Can’t say that I have.”

“Bummer, you’re really missing out.”

“I can live vicariously through you.”

Nick smiled gently, eyes brilliant in the glowing light from the fire. “You own this whole place, that’s gotta be a lot of work.”

Clay shrugged. 

Nick shook his head, not accepting Clay’s lack of answer, not this time.

The older man sighed. “I don’t think about it much. I’ve been doing this since I was young. My father owned the place, so I grew up here.”

“Must have made for an interesting childhood.”

Clay grinned widely, allowing himself the immense pleasure of sinking into nostalgia. “People always said I had a trusting face. Even as a kid, telling me all sorts of stories I was too young to know.”

“Any good ones?”

“A lifetime's worth.”

“You like it though? Listening to people?” Nick asked, genuine question in his eyes.

“Yeah, not like I can really go live it myself.” Clay smiled sadly down at his hands. “Your stories about the castle are the best though. All that grandeur, all that work and time and effort into something none of us ever get to see.” Clay looked up, meeting Nick’s eyes, the weight of their different stations in life finally sinking in. “It’s interesting, hearing about it all. How… mundane it all sounds. How utterly wasteful and preposterous and _beautiful_ too.”

“Sorry,” Nick shook his head, mind empty, cheeks pink. “I didn’t think about it like that I-”

Clay stopped him with a gentle hand to his shoulder. “No, don’t apologize.” He smiled genuinely, one that reached the corners of his eyes and the tips of his ears. “It’s life.”

“Tell me a story, then.” Nick implored. “Your favorite one.”

Clay looked up at him through his lashes, wistful smile in place. He took a deep breath in as he mulled over the extensive library in his head.

“There was an old guy, came in every so often.” Clay smiled to himself. “Scruffy white beard, tufts of matted hair on his head. He never wore anything flashy, never talked much. He sat in that corner back there.” He pointed to the far end of the tavern to a little table pressed flush against the wall. “He’d have one drink and then leave.”

“This went on for over a year. No one approached him, he never approached anyone.” Clay nodded. “One day I went to clean the table next to him. I was wiping off the mess when I asked him. I don’t know why I did, but I was a nosy teen at the time, talking before I could stop myself.” The barkeep chuckled. “I asked him what he was doing. Who he was waiting for.”

“He looked at me, I was fifteen at the time, and he smiled. Said he had a girl once, prettiest thing in the world. She was fancy, rich, and proper and had all these men after her. He wasn’t so lucky. Lived down by the river, son of the town tailor.”

“She always came to his father for clothes, though she never liked the frilly dresses they gave her. They weren’t her style. The son noticed over the years, they grew up in tandem, completely different lives, connected by the small tailor shop.”

“For her sixteenth birthday, the tailor made her this transcendent lace gown. Covered in jewels and frills. The tailor's son made her a pair of burlap pants. They were too big and she had to tie a rope around to hold them up, but she had loved them like they were priceless.”

“She had loved him like he was priceless.” Clay smiled to himself. “The only person that ever listened to her.”

“He said he knew she was the one from the moment she tried on the pants.”

Nick shook his head, laughing. “How’d he figure that?”

“He saw her smile,” Clay mused. “And he said he couldn’t imagine living one more day without seeing that sight.”

“But they couldn’t be together?”

Clay shook his head. “No. Her father married her off to some well-off gentleman. But she had her wedding dress made by the tailor’s son. He made her wedding dress as she prepared to marry another man.”

Nick stared at the tavern keep, his eyes searching his expression for… something.

“She moved into a big house miles and miles from here, but he still made her clothes, no matter what, she insisted on coming back and having him.”

“That’s cruel.”

“That’s love.” Clay shrugged. “He couldn’t have all of her, so he settled for pieces. And she got pieces of him in every bit of clothing he made.”

Clay glanced up from his mind wandering at the sound of aborted snickers. “What are you laughing at?” 

Nick shook his head, smile still in place. “It’s very telling that that’s your favorite story.”

“How so?”

“It’s about love. Frivolous and passionate and heartbreaking.” Nick nodded. “It sums you up.”

Clay rolled his eyes, leaning over the bar to playfully smack at his counterpart. “What are you and what have you done with my fearsome knight? You’ve turned him into a poet!”

* * *

Nick grimaced as he knocked loudly on the king’s chamber doors.

A few beats ticked by before the sound of wood and metal scraping against the stone still floors echoed against the walls of the empty corridor.

The king stood before him, still dressed pristinely even in his nightclothes. His hard gaze never faltered as he stared through Nick’s layers of chainmail and armor. 

It was alarming how naked he suddenly felt, with the leader of his nation’s full attention zeroed in and picking apart his very soul. 

“You’re my night guard tonight, yes? Sap-nap?”

Nick shivered at the way the king’s tongue lingered on the syllables of his name but nodded nonetheless. 

The king stepped aside, motioning for Nick to follow him in.

“I’ll never understand why they give you all the strangest titles,” the king mused, mostly to himself.

The soldier turned to face his leader, “My real name’s Nick,” he offered.

The corner of the king’s mouth quirked up. “I know.” His grin only widened predatorily at Nick’s confused expression. “I picked you myself, of course I know.”

“You… picked me?”

The king nodded, eyes still boring into Nick’s chest, burrowing in until the soldier swore he could feel pieces of his ribs being chipped away. “You seemed eager to prove yourself. I thought what better way than to give you a challenge.”

“Protecting you isn’t a challenge.”

The king chuckled. “It challenges _you_. You aren’t on a battlefield or dueling enemies, you are simply waiting, _wasting_ away. Would you not consider that a challenge?”

His words were laced with ice, cold and consuming and shattering the very core of who Nick was with only a few simple words. Spoken in a haughty tone.

He had done this on purpose. 

He knew what Nick had wanted and had taken it from him just because he could

“W-Why?” Nick stammered out, shock and fire rising from the pit of his stomach.

The king just shrugged, “I was curious to see what you’d do. How long you’d last.”

Nick nearly snapped. “You’re kind of a dick.”

The king chuckled mirthlessly. “You wouldn’t be the first to say that.” He grinned, motioning Nick closer. “Come now. Show me what you can do with that sword.”

“W-What?” Nick stood stock still, flummoxed. 

“You want to hit me, don’t you?” The king smirked. “I’m the king. I’m the reason you didn’t get Captain. You said it yourself, I’m kind of a dick. C’mon, show me.”

Nick couldn’t move, the king’s words echoing in his ears. “I-I won’t. What-”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he saw the light in the king’s eyes vanish. That ever-present mischief was gone. In its place was a sigh, longsuffering and low.

“You’re just like the rest of them.”

Suddenly it clicked. 

Nick, giddy in his realization, couldn’t hide a smirk. “Yep,” he nodded, stalking forward, “just like all the rest of them.”

The king’s head shot up, confusion etched into the lines on his face. “You won’t fight it then?”

Nick shook his head simply, stalking ever closer. The king’s confusion turned to fear in a flash, backing up until his back hit the cold stone of the wall behind him.

“Wha-”

Nick crept even closer until he was practically breathing the king’s exhale. He felt a thrill run the length of his spine, sizzling and popping along the nerves as he leaned in to whisper. “You aren’t going to bait me into doing what you want.”

The king’s eyes went wide.

“If you want something, a challenge, a fight, ask for it, like a real man.”

The king’s mouth fell open in shock. “You can’t-”

“I can’t _what_?” Nick asked, pressing his body flush against the king’s. “Speak to you like that? I thought that’s what you wanted? Someone to fight with.”

“I-I’ll have you hanged.”

“Will you now?” Nick smirked. 

It hit him at that moment how similar in age they were, how alike they must seem. Staring at the boy below him, Nick could trace where the color of his eye started to bleed into his pupil. 

He looked so much smaller up close.

Nick pulled away, suddenly breathless as he stomped over to the chamber door. He threw it open, but before he could let it shut, he smirked.

“Goodnight, Karl.”

* * *

“He’s a fool!” Nick groaned, his head thud, _thud, thudding_ against the wooden bartop. “An adrenaline junkie and a fool! I can’t stand him.”

Clay smiled knowingly, letting a bit of his resolve slip as he down the rest of his drink.

“What?”

“Nothing, it just…” He sighed. “Reminded me when I first fell in love.”

Nick’s head shot up, wild look in his eye. “What? Love? Not love!”

“Oh yes, love,” Clay smirked.

“He- but he’s- a he!”

Clay coughed loudly, awkwardly, refusing to meet the soldier’s eyes. “Right, well, there’s nothing wrong with that,” he muttered.

“That’s not what I meant. I just-”

The tavern keep cut him off. “Anyway, it’s not like anything could happen. He’s the king after all.”

A beat of loud silence passed between the two.

Nick looked… lost. In a sea of emotion with all his armor dragging him down to the depths. Lost.

“Who was she?” Nick looked up at Clay imploringly. “Your first love?”

Clay smiled nervously, fiddling with the hairs at the base of his neck. “No one.”

“Oh, don’t be like that-”

“I never got his name.”

_Oh._

_It felt different saying it aloud._

“Oh.”

“I was out getting wood. It was wintertime and the fire died.” Clay looked down to where his hands were fiddling with a splinter. “I thought he was an animal. You know those creatures in the dark that come and eat up little kids?”

Nick nodded.

“But it was just a boy. A little older than me, but just as frightened. He was pale as a ghost and if I hadn’t held his hand myself I wouldn’t have believed he wasn’t one.”

Nick’s gaze bore into him, setting fire to the brush that surrounded his heart. Setting it ablaze.

“I only met him a few times.”

“And you loved him?” Nick asked curiously. 

“As much as he’d let me.”

“Did you ever…”

“No. No. I barely spoke ten words to him.”

“So how-”

“How do I know I love him?” 

Nick nodded.

“I hear him in my dreams. Every so often. I’ll be in the thick of it, fighting or flying or falling, and I’ll hear his voice call out to me. Always the same.” Clay smiled to himself, brilliant and guttural. “I know it's love because I can’t imagine a day where I don’t hear that voice.” 

The soldier watched the emotions play out on Clay’s face, desperately trying to piece together why they looked so familiar.

“What did he look like?” Nick heard himself ask.

Clay chuckled. “You know, I couldn’t tell you. I’ve spent the last years trying to piece the face together. But I do remember one thing.”

Nick raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“He wore a paper crown.”

* * *

“Sapnap?”

“Yes, your highness?”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Yes.”

“And what did it feel like?”

“Like fire.”

* * *

Clay didn’t see much of his soldier slash companion in the weeks that followed. He tried and failed to not miss their easy conversation and endless banter. But such was the world. 

_People come in and out of our lives for all kinds of reasons. Doesn’t mean we let them get away with it._

It was only as the sun first began to dip into the night that Clay heard it. The familiar _clink, clank_ of armor. Though this time it sounded heavier somehow. Sadder.

Clay glanced up, letting out a gasp at the sight before him. Drenched head to toe, covered in streaks of mud and dirt and grime, fresh tears falling aimlessly, was his soldier.

“I thought about what you said,” Nick panted out, eyes drilling into the back of Clay’s skull. “About... love.”

Clay stared at him, wide eyes tracking the endless drops of water that fell from the soldier’s soaked form.

“I told him. The king. I told him and I… and I kissed him.”

Clay’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“And he… pushed me away.” Nick scrambled. “But then- but then he pulled me in closer than before and everything felt like… like…”

“Love?”

Nick didn’t nod, but Clay didn’t need him to.

“He pushed me away again after that. And I… I came straight here. I don’t-I don’t know why. I don’t know why.”

“Nick-”

“I don’t know why.”

* * *

Weeks later Nick roused Q from his slumber outside the eerily familiar chamber doors. He hadn’t been tasked with night guard in nearly a month, and he knew why. 

Q cursed under his breath at the sudden awakening, but kept mostly quiet as he retreated down the corridor Nick had come from. 

It was quiet at least. That much Nick was grateful for. 

It gave him time to think.

Though apparently that was too much to ask for as a moment later he heard a loud cracking sound as something shattered against the floor in the king’s chambers.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Nick swung open the door, ignoring the way it squeaked on its hinges. He found the boy king clutching his foot, wincing in pain, and a shattered stone fountain in the middle of the room.

“Sir!”

“I’m fine!” The king snapped. “Just knocked over the fountain, _fucking ow_.”

Nick’s worry faded, his practiced neutral expression back in place. 

He nodded.

“Why the fuck do they even have fountains in bedrooms?” The king wondered aloud, clearly expecting an answer.

“I don’t know, your highness,” Nick muttered, unable to keep the vitriol out of his voice.

It had been the first time they had seen each other properly since-

And nothing seemed to have changed. 

The hurt welling up inside Nick threatened to take hold.

“Well, if that’s all, I’ll be going.”

He turned away from the sight, the stinging in his eyes becoming unbearable. 

The knowledge that if he just turned around the stinging would stop hurt that much more.

“Wait, Nick-”

“Goodnight, your highness.”

* * *

“He’s the king! The KING!” 

“Lower your voice, dammit.”

Clay lowered his voice, but not his intensity. “You’re in love with the KING, Nick.”

“You’re in love with a guy you met ten years ago in a forest,” Nick shot back.

Clay’s eyes widened. “That was low.”

The two stared at each other for a long moment before bursting out into raucous laughter that drew the eyes of nearly everyone in the tavern. They hardly noticed.

“What are you going to do?” Clay finally asked, finger tracing the rim of his empty glass.

Nick sighed, long and low. “The only thing I can do.”

“Love him from afar?” Clay prompted.

Nick shook his head no. “How would you feel about getting out of here?” Clay raised a brow. “Going to see the world you’ve heard so much about?”

* * *

The bitter cold of the night was disappearing now as a new season emerged. Melting ice and snow made a stream where there had once been road; Clay cursed it as he made his way across the small path to the bakery. 

He could still make out faint traces of cheers from the tavern guests as he entered the small establishment. The gust of warmth hit him like a punch as the door shut firmly behind him.

Toby had shown up, hacking and spewing all kinds of grotesque noises before Clay finally sent him home, promising to drop by before the end of the night with some stew and bread. It had been a slow day anyway, the only highlight had been a letter from Nick, boasting about his adventures in the great unknown. Clay has wistfully read it over ten times, committing each detail to memory. 

He planned on joining his friend in the not too distant future. He just needed a bit of time to sort things out.

As he readied himself to approach the counter, Clay stopped dead in his tracks. 

Leaning over the wood table was a young man, not much older than himself. A little girl was looking up at him eagerly with a megawatt smile. The man mirrored her expression as he placed a perfect paper crown atop her crimson locks.

Clay watched as the man behind the table smiled down at her, blissfully unaware of his presence.

The man had unruly brown hair, locks tickling the edges of his ears with gentle curls. His pale skin practically translucent even with the glow from the fire.

Clay moved forward, slowly, purposefully, shoes treading harshly against the floors. 

The man looked up at the noise, startling a bit. “Oh, hello ther-” he stopped suddenly.

_That voice._

Clay walked forward, eyeing the scraps of paper laid out on the table, and the matching premade crown sitting beside it. He took it delicately in his hands, fingers feeling electric as he raised it up to place the makeshift crown on top of the young man’s head.

The baker looked at him, eyes swimming with a sea of emotions just out of reach.

“There you go.” Clay smiled, brilliant. “That’s better.”

The man watched him, face unreadable for several moments before a teary smile forced its way to the surface. “I thought I had dreamed you,” he whispered.

And yes, this was love.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I am still v new to writing these characters, and for this fandom, so please go easy on me lol. Also, find me on tumblr @manhuntmedown


End file.
